I can’t tell you — but you feel it (Emily Dickinson Poems)
I can't tell you -- but you feel it -- Nor can you tell me -- Saints, with ravished slate ...
I can't tell you -- but you feel it -- Nor can you tell me -- Saints, with ravished slate ...
"Sic transit gloria mundi," "How doth the busy bee," "Dum vivimus vivamus," I stay mine enemy! Oh "veni, vidi, vici!" ...
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